Reflections
by Wren Auteur
Summary: A collection of vignettes spanning the movies and beyond.
1. Chapter 1

The Guardians

Part 1

Looking back he cannot believe how slowly each day passes. Yes, he has work and purpose. No, he is never truly alone. But in the most important ways, the most significant ways, he is abandoned, gone before his time and no one mourned him.

He knows he is aging quickly. He knows and he does not care. It seems a mockery that he is not dead, that he is alone with his memories: the bittersweet early years, when his mind began waking to a large world; the turbulent years when his task seemed a poor fit for his abilities; the betrayal.

Yes, though he should not, his mind lingers over those moments. He lingers over the truth he did not wish to face; the fight he wanted no part in.

The betrayal memories unfailingly give way to the most painful, the ones he now calls "the agonies." As an unsentimental man he would not have been able to explain why these were the worst. He had struggled for so long to resist attachment, to keep his mind open to the living Force.

Even as these memories seized him he could never clearly remember how many times she had called for the one who would never come back. He remembered how her sobs had choked what little strength she had. How much he wished he could give her what she needed, what she deserved. He remembered how he had tried to be her friend yes, but also the mother, the father, the sister, and even the husband she would never see again. How he had failed her again, even in that.

It was not hard to see how easy it would be to love her. He wondered at his own blindness, his choice to believe, to _pretend_ his friend had not lost his heart. Duplicity of this kind usually disgusted him, but how willing he had been to be deceived! He had known. He had known and he willing chose to ignore. Yes, she would have been very easy to love.

He cannot help but remember her protestations of her husband's goodness, despite all evidence to the contrary. He cannot imagine a love so devoted it would die before seeing what power and lust can do to someone so beloved. He wishes he could believe as she believed but many years have passed and he has seen too much. He will not trust in a dying fantasy, born of love, true, but bitterly deceived at the end.

He thinks of his own chance for love. He thinks of the duty, the commitment that kept him from a love both passionate and powerful, and yet a love that was ultimately ephemeral, such that he wondered if he had only imagined its possibility.

These thoughts inevitably led to thoughts of the boy. He found him amusing, single minded but also evocative of mistakes he wished he could fix and felt doomed to repeat. Echoes of the lost friend dogged this young one's steps and he could not ignore them.

He had decided the Force must have a twisted sense of humor. He was kept from the boy by his uncle, a man who in reality had less of a tie to the boy than he did.

The uncle blamed _him_ for the loss of the boy's father, for the loss of the boy's grandmother, whom he had never even met. The uncle was afraid _he_ would lead the boy away on an idealistic mission, the likes of which he had always hated. _He_ had blamed the boy's father for those crusades; he had not sought them himself, indeed, he would have much preferred staying in one spot and dedicating himself to one task, not run all over the known universe in such a haphazard way.

His habit of chuckling to himself over these ironies had no doubt contributed to the locals calling him a "crazy old man." But he did not mind that, he did not even mind the solitude. He had always loved peace, the immersion of meditation. He would not torment himself, dreaming of the lost love, the lost friends, the lost life. Well, he would not _often_ torment himself. There were happy memories to cherish, painful in their own way but comforting as well.

No, the invasive tentacles of doubt and grief were the trials he sometimes felt he could not bear. Could he have prevented the choices that led to destruction? He knew he could have been a better master, a better friend, a better man. This knowledge haunted him; these thoughts made him believe he was, in fact, crazy.

In the best times he knew that fear was unfounded, but that knowledge did not lessen the ache every time he sat in his own door way, watching the sunsets. Obi-Wan would watch the dusk fall on the desert and in grief and humility ask again, "Why, Anakin? Why did I fail you?"

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Author's Note: Star Wars does not belong to me. I do not receive a profit from this story. I live not for money but for reviews (hint, hint).

This is a collection of vignettes divided into sections. The first section is called The Guardians. Some vignettes will reference my other works, which you will find listed in my profile, but they will also stand alone (hopefully!). Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

She called him "Papa." He never asked or commanded that she do so, but she has always done so. She addresses Breha with the typical Alderaanian aristocratic, "Maman" or simply, "Mami", in intimate moments. He would see Breha's face light up every morning as the young princess ran to their room and called a cheerful, "It's a beautiful day, Mami!"

Yes, he thinks, despite his concerns and fears, every day is beautiful, though not as lovely as his princess. She was all he had wished for in a daughter and ever so much more.

He often mused on the strange twists of fate. She had grown so quickly! Everyone who met her commented on how like her father she was, with her ease in the Senate and her flair for diplomacy. They praised her likeness to her mother, the air of perfect breeding and her royal way of carrying herself.

The flattery always sobered him. He and his wife had never concealed from her the fact of her adoption. She had seemingly accepted it with equanimity. Despite that, Breha had insisted that no one else be told, outside of immediate family. And after several unfortunate outbursts in the child's younger years, all holos and images containing her birth mother had been swept away, along with any matter of fact references to the past.

So, he often had reason to pause. Every compliment, every comparison of his daughter to himself, he remembered her mother. Dying, unable to live, to fight, giving her tiny babies the only blessing she could: their names.

He wondered, in the worst times, when his daughter's stubbornness and anger sobered him, how her twin fared so far away. He wondered how the chosen guardians handled the boy. He envied them the help the Jedi must be.

He, though not strong in the Force, could see that she had the potential. Somehow she seemed to know things before they happened. She seemed able to predict some events, able to discern what people truly meant and felt, sometimes before they could know themselves. As a small child her pointed insights had sometimes startled him, and as a young woman she was formidable indeed.

He loved her and he knew she loved him, admired him, respected him, and even emulated him, but he also knew her dreams. As she lay in her room fit for a princess, with everything she could ever want, she dreamed aloud, her agonizing cries echoing down the halls.

These dreams haunted Bail Organa, but the most soul wrenching nights containing the most painful dreams, he sat outside her room with his wife. Breha, who, so exhausted with the burden, leaned against his shoulder and sobbed. Together they wept as their young daughter cried for her mother.

"Why did you leave me, Mother? Where are you? I can't find you! Mother," her voice would plead, cajole, and demand until she slipped back into restless sleep.

Sometimes he would stand over her and try to imagine what she was thinking. He wondered if her mother had found some way, even from the afterlife, of soothing her daughter, because the child would often stop struggling, and drift into peaceful sleep, a contented look on her face though tears still sparkled on her cheeks.

The cries echoed in his heart, long after she stopped calling, long after she grew into a capable and dependable young woman capable of hiding her inner self. He hated injustice, he fought evil as best he could, but he knew, no matter how well he raised her, no matter how much he loved her, he could never make Leia's nightmares disappear.

A/N: Star Wars is _still_ not mine (duh!). Unless you're looking to be paid in baby slobber, dirty dishes, and kid art don't sue.


	3. Chapter 3

This is part of my "Guardians" series.

Obligatory disclaimer: I just love it, I don't own it.

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They indulged him, he admitted. He couldn't be sure why it had turned out that way. Maybe because of the years when they knew they would never have children, maybe as defiance against anyone who doubted their ability to provide, maybe just as a way to affirm life's value in a universe that treated life so cheaply.

Beru, never one given to emotional outbursts, had cried the first time the boy lifted his tiny arms and called for her. He had wanted to deny the boy's adoption, have the boy say "Father" and "Mom", the way other Tatooine children did. Beru had insisted they be honest, calling herself from the very first night, "Aunt Beru."

"You're not his aunt," he had muttered and her eyes had sparked like the angry noon suns. He instantly repented, though inside he fought against the notion that he was in any way related to the Jedi.

"He has a mother, Owen," she had said, "I can't replace her. I _won't_ replace her."

Though they never said her name, at times her presence on the tiny farm seemed overpowering. Beru would sing simple lullabies; sweet songs that Owen knew did not originate on Tatooine, songs of glistening water and singing birds, songs of beauty and sweetness. He wondered where his wife had learned such songs, but he did not ask.

And he did not stop her from speaking of Shmi, from telling the boy how proud his grandmother had been of her son who flew in the stars. Owen could not admit it freely but he still missed his own father and his stepmother.

Shmi's love and acceptance had been offered to him so freely, despite his inexplicable jealousy of her oft mentioned son, who had gone to "change the universe", despite his inadequacy compared to a son more dream than reality. And his father had been good, better than Owen could be. Shmi had been Cliegg's partner and his friend and her loss had quickened his own death, of that Owen felt sure.

So, he had often relented with Beru and the boy. Where he had wanted to be stern it had come across as merely gruff. Where he had wanted to stand his ground, he had caved time and again.

Yes, he had given in, except for one point. In the early years Beru had taken the boy to see Kenobi. She had invited the hermit for meals, a courtesy the old man had generally refused. After several disconcerting gatherings Owen had forbidden the word "Jedi" to be spoken.

As Luke grew older Owen had determined to keep his nephew as far from the old man as possible. He knew the day would come when, as quickly as Kenobi had blessed them, he would take the boy away again.

Owen could not face that fear. He could not see his wife mourn her way into a sandy grave before her time. He knew it was cowardly, and he despised his cowardice, but he could not change it.

As if to postpone the inevitable, they gave him all they could; things they could ill afford in their battle against harsh Tatooine life. They allowed him leisure time, speeders, half-junked pod racers, and every toy they could obtain. Despite their love and desire to give him the best chance, Owen could not allow Luke his true desire: he could not give him his freedom. He could not give him his father.

So Luke looked away, seeking what Owen Lars could not give. Owen hated the unfairness of the universe. He had been given a boy, now second only to Beru in his heart, a boy he had never expected to love. He had thought the raising of his stepbrother's son a burden too great to bear and now - how late he realized it! - now, he had become far too painful to lose.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: This is Part 4 in my Guardians series. And again, I just love it, I don't own it. Don't sue!

* * *

Good, the quiet is. Peaceful, the world devoid of sentient beings is.

Wallow in doubt or self pity, he will not. Question the will of the Force, he will not. It would do no good.

Instead he fills his time, and of that there is much, with meditation. Focuses on his hope, he does. He desires that the Force will make them strong, that they will be kept safe from the tentacles of the Darkside.

At the decisions made so quickly, he wonders. Would it be safe, keeping her so close to the evil she must destroy? Would that distant world prove too harsh for the boy?

Which will seek him out first is something he likes to guess about, without the Force visions that might illuminate. That it is not the Force's will for him to leave his exile home, determined he has, and so he waits. They must find him, if the Force wills it.

The Emperor's future he can glimpse. Ominous, the lack of a lightsaber at the end seems. And he knows not what the bright blue light his visions end in may mean.

Over his own failures and the long held prophecies he muses and meditates. He cannot bring himself to believe the prophecy's truth, though his friend from beyond continues to do so.

He cannot see reason in holding to fancies. With his own authority he struggles, and with the thought that others may have looked to him and not found answers. The advice given he repeats and studies, but fault is easy to find and he does not trust himself to be reasonable.

Commit to believing Qui-Gon and his insistence in Anakin's redemption, he cannot, but he can feel himself aging and he wants to believe. He wants to have faith in the voice beyond the grave. He wants to hold that hope unflinchingly.

Sense Obi-Wan he cannot, not here. The very elements protecting him from the Emperor also conceal him from his remaining friend. Occasionally he will make the long trek, away from his hut and what protection it offers, to more freely sense his connections in the Force.

Obi-Wan's gratitude for these connections he can feel. He can sense how quickly Obi-Wan has aged under his burdens and this knowledge saddens him, making him aware of each life's limited time to make a difference in the universe. His own failure to leave the universe better than he found it he feels.

The boy's impatience he can feel, and he fears they may have lost their chance to truly make him a Jedi. The girl's stubbornness and her immersion in weighty matters, he can sense. The strain in making these connections is too much to take frequently, so he makes the trip less and less often. To stay home and wait he chooses.

He, once considered the greatest Jedi, goes quietly about his days. He completes his menial chores a little slower each day, filling the hours but not his thoughts. To Qui-Gon and the animals and himself he talks, laughing at what a sight he must be.

Yoda of Dagobah he now is, and will remain. And wait he will. The day will come when his visions are born in reality and for that day he will continue to wait and yes, continue to hope.


	5. Chapter 5

Mea culpa: This is a long neglected fancy of mine. These vignettes are all related to my other stories.

Obligatory disclaimer: I just love it, I don't own it.

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She hates the injustice ruling the universe

She hates the injustice ruling the universe. She has always opposed tyranny and oppression. She can still remember her beloved friend waxing eloquent on how things ought to be, though they were yet young women, late into the night.

She wonders at the paths that have led her to her current life. She is an orphan many times over but that does not make each new loss easier. She wonders what her life might have been, had her parents lived. Maybe she would have been queen? She always laughs at that thought. She knew she did not have the diplomacy for that role, her own function had suited her best, and that had been chosen for her, an unlooked for and unsought position, but not an unwelcome one.

Their friendship had been sweet. They had never run out of things to talk about even as their paths diverged. She had never envied the honors her friend had received because she could also see the burden, the toll those honors extracted.

She remained grateful for the service she had been able to provide. She remembers the struggle she had fought to control her own emotions when she had been left behind, her longing to confess her burden to her new friend, and the others scolding her as she admitted the attraction.

She regrets her haste to try new things. She must admit to a grain of jealousy keeping her from following her friend, a jealousy that led her to take her own position, far away from those who knew and loved her best. The parting had been bitter.

She almost regrets her recommendation of her younger sister, the only family she had left, to a rank so similar to her own, working for her friend in difficult circumstances that she herself would not have been able to handle. She wonders if she bears her sister's blood on her hands.

She most regrets not being able to save her friend, of not realizing what was happening, being too caught up in her own life. She accuses herself of selfishness, of jealousy, of letting her own feelings blind her to what she ought to have done.

So, she atones in the only way she can. She will protect Ryoo and Pooja, as if they were her own nieces, as if they were her own lost daughter. Sola had asked her, begged her for Padmé's sake, and Sabé intended to keep that trust. The evil that had cost Rabé, Yané, Saché, Ellé, and Moteé their lives would not touch Padmé's beloved nieces.

She knew Eirtaé's location but they could not risk diverging themselves to each other, not in these dark times. She did not know what had happened to Dormé but she knew she had buried far too many friends. Sometimes she did not wish to know and sometimes she longed for a former friend to talk to, someone who would understand, someone who had loved Padmé almost as much as she, though surely no other handmaiden had known her and loved her so well and yet so little.

So Sabé hides and waits, raising Ryoo and Pooja as best she can, submerging the Naberrie name, refusing to let the name of Amidala be spoken, lest it betray them. She longs for the day when light and liberty may return. She prays, she works for such a day, but she does not allow herself to hope.

Hope is throwing yourself into the Naboo winds and expecting to be brought back to a place you love, a place that has ceased to exist in all but memory.

She cannot allow her thinking to be tinged with the danger of hope. No hope can return her parents, her sister, her friends, or her queen to life. She questions why her life remains and she focuses on Ryoo and Pooja as the reason. They are her optimism, her trust for the future. Someone must raise them, protect them, guide them. It should have been their mother and father. It might have been their aunt.

Sabé is all they have left, on a planet that no longer remembers their names or their legacy. Sabé fights; not for her own life or glory, but that the things once loved and respected might live again.


	6. Chapter 6

Usual disclaimers apply: I love it, I don't own it.

These were written over a year ago and I forgot about them. Review if the fancy strikes you.

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Reflections Vignettes: The Secrets

Part 1

The Royal house of Alderaan is imposing. Their history, their traditions, their loves, their hates, all of this would be daunting to one less prepared to handle the seemingly endless protocols and vagaries. But she is well prepared. She has learned her lessons and her knowledge serves her well.

When she came, not that long ago, she had been unsure whether her choice was well thought out. She was a stranger to Alderaan and its people. Bail Organa had offered her this position, after she requested a new assignment and thought his offer the best, the most likely to seem completely different and yet reassuringly familiar.

_I was weak_... She often thought. _I felt left out_ _and helpless_... She wondered whether any of her current associates had ever felt that way. She didn't know them well, she chose to live that way, serving a necessary function but invisible to most, and strangely frightening to some.

She missed the things of her former life, her family, her friends, her duties, her position. She wondered whether anyone missed her but she could not dwell on such dark thoughts. This is her life now, and she will not permit herself too many backward glances.

She could not explain why Breha Organa seemed to avoid her. The Queen certainly never found fault with her work, or reprimanded her in any way. No, the mistress smiled at her gently, murmured her gratitude properly without fail. But there was something, some tension that the servant just didn't understand.

She decided that the tumultuous times must be the explanation and, never one to ask too many questions, let the matter drop. She did not want undue attention.

"You must let me go," Mei pleaded. The Queen raised one eyebrow, not in derision but in skepticism.

"You think that a wise move?" She asked, her low voice even more sober than usual. "There will be many dangers in this journey."

"I know what I must do," Mei insisted, looking down at her simple dress, at her knuckles white with tension as she gripped her skirt.

"My husband will not attend. He is coming home," the Queen finally admitted. "I do not know how you may attend without drawing attention to yourself."

"My lady, if I might just have a small ship, I promise I will return quickly and without drawing anyone's attention." Breha Organa looked away for long moments before finally consenting.

"Yes, Mei, you have my permission. I will arrange what you need."

"Thank you, my lady," Mei murmured, her gratitude evident.

"You will not let any...suspicious people know you are there, or where you come from?" The Queen needed more reassurance.

"I swear it to you. I will be a mere shadow, but I must be allowed to go."

* * *

"Mei, Mei!" The childishly sweet voice called. Mei smiled, looking up from the intricate stitches she had labored over all morning.

"Princess," she spoke warmly. "What adventure are you on today?" She indulged the Organas' young daughter, well known in the Palace for her rambunctious "adventures".

"I'm a Senator," the child informed her. "_And_ I'm fighting bad guys." Mei's face lost its smile. This was a new play, and a potentially dangerous one from Mei's point of view.

Leia leaned closer, over the bulky dress Mei was holding on her lap. "Can you keep a secret?" She whispered, her brown eyes sparkling.

"Yes, Princess," she smiled sadly. "I can keep a secret." Leia looked around the chamber quickly.

"I'm fighting the bad guys," she said again, "And _the Jedi_ are helping me."

"Oh, Princess," Mei protested in a hoarse whisper, "You mustn't say that." Leia's face fell and Mei felt repentant. "It isn't...safe to say such things, not now," Mei explained.

"Father told me," Leia insisted rebelliously, "He told me about the...them."

"Yes, dear, but it isn't a good idea to talk about them too loudly."

"I whispered!" Leia insisted.

"Sometimes even whispers are not safe," Mei said with a sigh she could not conceal. "Secrets must be kept safe, deep down inside us," she said gently, "Deep down in our hearts where no one else can see or hear." Leia appeared to consider this.

"I think you are wise, Mei," she finally said in a solemn voice. Mei smiled and allowed herself a caress of the young Princess' head.

"You are the wise one, Princess," she smiled.

"I never tell secrets," Leia boasted. "I keep them like I keep my dreams." And with that Leia skipped away and Mei suppressed the feeling that she had known that little one longer than her five years.


	7. Chapter 7

The usual disclaimers apply...

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Reflections: The Secrets

Part 2

"I want Mei!" Princess Leia declared in her loudest voice. She lay on her bed, unwilling to sleep, her arms stubbornly crossed over her chest. Her body was long, entering the phase between pure childhood and true adolescence, but her face was set in a childishly stubborn mold.

"Shh," the servant hushed her but Mei had heard and slipped quietly into the room.

"What is it, milady?" She asked.

Leia sat up in bed. "I want you to help me go to sleep."

The servant gestured helplessly. "I don't know what the matter is tonight," she said fretfully. "If the mistress hears about this..."

"It will be fine," Mei assured her. "I will stay and Leia," she said firmly, looking at the defiant princess, "Will go to sleep." The other servant hurried from the room and Mei walked to sit by the Princess on her bed.

"Now, what is this fuss about?"

"I don't know," Leia admitted. "I think...I'm afraid to go to sleep."

"More nightmares?" Mei asked. The Princess' nightmares had been notorious in the palace in her younger years. Her parents had sat outside her door and wept, unable to make her wake or help her sleep, and the servants had whispered that the child was unwell, verging on insanity. But sometime after Leia's seventh year the nightmares had subsided or at the least her vocal cries during the night had stopped.

"I always dream, Mei," Leia admitted. "But I bury them deep inside me, so they won't bother anyone."

"Oh, Princess," Mei gasped.

"It's alright," Leia assured her, patting her hand. "I just wondered if you could...sing to me," she asked.

"Sing to you?"

"You know, like a lullaby?" Leia prompted. "Something people used to sing where you're from."

"Where I'm from?" Mei asked stupidly.

"Well, you must be from somewhere," Leia lost her patience. "I know you're not from Alderaan." She sat up in bed, pulling herself face to face with the stunned servant.

"No, I'm not," Mei stammered, willing all the emotions to submerge again.

"Where are you from?"

"Will you sleep if I tell you?"

"Promise," Leia lay back on her pile of soft pillows, her soft brown hair fanning around her. The image choked Mei and she fought for control for a few long seconds.

"I'm from Naboo," she confessed when words returned to her clumsy tongue.

"Naboo?" Leia asked. Confusion creased her brow as she looked up into eyes as brown as her own.

"Yes."

"But why is that such a secret?" Leia asked, sitting up again. "I've been there."

"Yes, Princess," Mei said as she gently pushed Leia back against the pillow. She looked away, afraid of what words might slip past her resolve. Was there treachery even in this girlish chamber?

"I remember it's beautiful," Leia said, almost apologetically. "I want...I would very much like to see it again some day. Do you think I will, Mei?"

"I...I don't know, Princess," she managed, her hands gripping the fabric of her skirt. "I hope so." Leia reached out her young hand and covered Mei's trembling one.

"Tell me about it, Mei," she entreated, "Please."

"I...can't, Princess," Mei said hopelessly. "It would not be wise." Leia frowned and lifted her hand from Mei's. She lay back again and stared at her window for a moment.

"Then sing about it, Mei," she commanded in a soft childish whisper. "I...need you to sing about it. Sing about Naboo." The tears that Mei had been avoiding slipped down, splashing onto the soft ornate blankets covering Princess Leia's bed. She could not deny this request and she sang the only lullaby she could remember.

"May your dreams always bloom like flowers in the sun,

May the stars be always dancing in your eyes,

May you always keep running until your race is won,

May you always have clear water and blue skies..."

The tears fell unhindered as she remembered the words about flowing water, sweet winds, and singing birds. She could hear the familiar voices of her past, whispering the words with her, a sensation that both frightened and soothed her.

Leia's hand loosened, as she gave into sleep, and Mei hummed the last bit, allowing herself to lean over and just brush a tiny kiss on the young Princess's hair. She wiped at her tears as she walked to the door.

"She responds to you," Breha Organa observed with a look Mei could not decipher.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Mei curtseyed, unsure of herself, trying to hide how the Queen had startled her. "She...she asked for me, my lady." Breha led Mei away from the room and shut the heavy wooden door softly. "I won't do it again," Mei said.

Breha turned in the half light and her eyes were sober and sad. "You did nothing wrong, Mei," she answered. "I trust you."

Mei raised her head to look in Breha Organa's eyes. "You have as much to lose as I," she continued before shaking her head slightly, "No; you have lost more than I." She led Mei to a small sitting room and offered her a seat.

"I'm truly sorry, my lady," Mei said again. Breha waved her hand in a gesture of impatience.

"You are not in trouble, Mei." Breha turned to her own window, staring out at the dark Alderaanian night.

"I always wanted a daughter," she mused, more to herself than Mei and Mei strained to hear the words. "Leia is the best gift the universe could have given me."

"My lady?" Mei felt stupid again.

"Bail placed her in my arms and she looked up at me," Breha continued as if Mei had not interrupted. "Her eyes were so wise, so brave, even then," she smiled at Mei, "Already so stubborn."

"Yes, my lady," Mei smiled in turn.

"Leia...knows things, Mei," Breha continued, now earnestly watching Mei's face. "She knows things that no one ever told her. She knows...more than I will admit, more than I can ever say out loud."

"Yes, ma'am."

"But she does not understand the danger, she _cannot_ understand it. We've tried so to keep the worst from her..." Breha's voice trailed off.

"I would never endanger the Princess, my lady," Mei's voice was firm now. Breha stood and walked to a small cabinet in the corner.

"I know you would not, Mei," she said gently. "But you do not yet know the burden you both must share." Mei could not speak her heart pounded so hard in her chest. "You have both suffered the loss of a...beloved," Breha explained awkwardly.

"You recall that I allowed you to take a trip once?" She asked and Mei nodded in response. "That is when the princess came to us, Mei. Do you remember?" Mei nodded more slowly this time.

"It was a...difficult time, my lady," she murmured.

"Yes," Breha agreed. "Well, your journey and the princess coming to me, these things are not unrelated." Breha lifted a tiny holo from an unknown chamber of the cabinet. And Mei found herself looking at an image she had never expected to see again.

"You see it," Breha whispered hoarsely. The beautiful young face, flowing brown hair surrounding her, white flowers, once expressive eyes now closed forever...And the young girl asleep in this very palace, petite but vivacious, leading without realizing her own ability...

"I see it," Mei spoke, choked by loss and memory. _How could this be_?

"No one must ever know," Breha said sadly, "Not the way the things are now."

"No, my lady," Mei managed before her tears fell in a torrent of regret. Breha reached out her smooth, regal hand and raised Mei's eyes.

"Dormé," she said and the former handmaiden nodded, grateful to hear her name again, if only this once. "We will protect her, you and I."

"Yes, my lady," Dormé agreed through her tears. "We will protect her."


End file.
